


Starry, Starry Night

by danajeanne



Category: White Collar
Genre: Other, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:36:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danajeanne/pseuds/danajeanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder—close your eyes, son —how I wonder how you are.  Up above the…world…so… I love you, son …” He watched quietly as dark lashes closed over sleepy blue eyes and a tiny voice whispered, “I love you more, daddy…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starry, Starry Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Turtlebaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtlebaby/gifts).



> Author's Notes: Written for runthecon, for the prompt "Seeing Stars" by Turtlebaby_02. Due to time constraints this is completely unedited. Season Six AU-ish ending. Sort of. Heck, I don't know what this is. If you happen to find a plot, please let me know!

“Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder—close your eyes, son —how I wonder how you are. Up above the…world…so… I love you, son …” He watched quietly as dark lashes closed over sleepy blue eyes and a tiny voice whispered, “I love you more, daddy…”

*****

“You want to paint what on our baby’s ceiling?” 

Elizabeth laughed and poked Peter in the gut. “I think that’s a lovely idea, Neal. Most people stick glow-in-the-dark stars on their baby’s ceiling; our son will have a masterpiece to look at while he lies in his crib.”

“We don’t need a Von Gogh forgery in our son’s nursery,” Peter protested.

Neal rolled his eyes. “Its hardly a forgery if I paint it on the ceiling, Peter. Besides, Elizabeth likes the idea and she’s the one currently doing all the hard work.”

Two sets of bright blue eyes watched as Peter made a valiant attempt to come up with a response that wouldn’t see him sleeping on the couch for the next five months. Nope, he had nothing.

“Right.” El was using her ‘subject closed’ voice. “We can choose from that color pallet for the rest of the room. Planets around the walls, perhaps? You can paint planets, of course, right, Neal?”

“I could paint you a universe, Elizabeth,” came the gallant reply.

Peter knew when he’d been out-maneuvered, however, “Maybe a sports theme?”

“No.”

Stereo. They were in fine form tonight.

***** 

“How about baseballs instead of planets?” Peter stirred his soup, carefully not looking at Neal.

“What if he’s not into sports?” Neal countered, grinned and took a bite out of his sandwich.

“Not…what? No, not possible,” Peter blustered. His brows drew together, “no, not possible. Of course he’ll be into sports. You know that’s a huge father and son bonding experience, he’ll…shit.”

For a split second, long enough for Peter to catch it, but only because he knew his former CI so well, Neal’s face looked like it physically hurt. Just for a second, though, and then Neal was showing the old empty, blank, nothing-to-see-here expression that he hadn’t worn around Peter in a long time. 

“Yes, Peter, he certainly will shit,” Neal said, now sporting his best wide phony grin, “and piss, and spit up, and shit some more—”

“Neal—”

“Its okay, Peter, my family life is a minefield and you’re bound to step on a bomb once in a while. Especially after Baby Burke makes his appearance so don’t worry about it. I don’t.”

“I am sorry.”

“I know.” This time Neal’s smile was small but genuine. “It is what it is, as a friend of mine used to say, and we can’t change the past. What will be—”

“Shut up, Neal.”

“Planets, Peter, no baseballs.”

Neal always did like to have the last word.

***** 

It didn’t take Neal long to paint the ceiling in the nursery. Peter was pretty sure it was because Neal had had a lot of practice over the years painting that particular starry night. Even though he’d waited till almost the last minute to get started on it, he still beat the baby’s arrival.

David Neil—

(“You didn’t,” huffed Neal. “We did,” chorused the new parents. “Well, you spelled it wrong,” Neal with an E and A pointed out with a sniff. “Cowboy up, Caffrey,” ordered the ecstatic Father. “Just say ‘thank you’,” instructed the very tired Mother.) 

—Burke arrived bright and early on June 27. After the obligatory phone calls, texts, photos, instagrams, and tweets were completed—

(“You forgot Facebook, Peter.” “Do you want first shot at diaper duty, Neal?”) 

—the new family lounged around the room basking in the tiny miracle nestled in his mother’s arms. 

“Like watching paint dry,” murmured Neal after twenty minutes had passed.

“You’d know,” said Peter.

“Shhhhhh….”

***** 

While Neal didn’t actually get first shot at diaper duty, his turn did eventually arrive. As he wiped and powdered and creamed—oops—and powdered again, he kept up a soothing commentary on various subjects.

The normal: “your parents are great”. A cautionary warning: “do your best to like baseball”. A promise: “I’ll teach you all about art”. 

And a secret.

“I painted your room, David Neil with an E and I Burke. Your mom and dad? They think its because I wanted to put a Van Gogh on your ceiling. But if you look very, very closely, it isn’t really Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’. You’ve got yourself an original Caffrey up there. Oh, its based on the original painting, but its mine.”

Chubby arms and legs waved in the air while baby noises filled the room. 

“Glad you like it! See, I have one good memory from when I was a kid. My father, while he was still a daddy, had one song he sung to me at night. And if you look closely at your painting you’ll see the song up there.”

Baby Burke was still, giving every appearance that he was listening to what was being said. His blue eyes followed Neal’s pointing finger, as Neal began to sing softly.

“Twinkle, twinkle little star…”

The End


End file.
